Love has never asked to be felt; it has never once bowed its head to kiss my palms or ask me what it would take to make room for it in my soul. Love has never spent a moment gathering my dreams or getting to know me a little bit better; it never once offered … Continue reading Love Has Never

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You left me to hold the hard parts of our life and the night, and I still try to mute the sound of my own heart breaking, but it breaks again and again, over and over until the shards of it climb from my chest and pull my lungs from my throat, my lungs that … Continue reading The Hard Part of the Night

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I would have loved nothing more than to leave you gracefully, but those matches I had hidden in my back pocket were yearning to be struck as I had been stricken with guilt and buried underneath your lies somewhere in the bottom of your soul, next to the misfortune you carried and scrawled into the … Continue reading I Developed A Taste For It

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I don’t think you ever knew how much I loved you, or how I pressed these poems between my teeth or my heart, all depending on the day or the weather and whether or not you decided to take my calls or drown me out. I don’t think I ever knew how much I wanted … Continue reading Love on Demand

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What if i recklessly wrote three or four poems a day
and sent them into the void of cyberspace
where anyone from my little brother to my exes could read them
until i was picked clean like the carcass
of the rotisserie chicken my aunt sent me home with last weekend
and what if i then found spiderwebs in my pantry
and boiled a bone broth with it – would i be all
water with shiny oil spills fed to the masses
at the homeless shelter i almost wound up at

or should i instead demand a little privacy
when the car of my body stops short and my brain
reels back and jolts violently against my skull
until i am irrevocably damaged? should i put on display
for the purpose of a science i dont understand
the spots where i am worn thin and short circuiting

There’s been no birth but I am suffering from post-partum depression.
Do you know the feeling? Something’s been taken away.
I am a passéiste; I do not have my eye on the next thing.

In the garden, the Delphiniums are in flower.
We’ll do everything together; we’ll change the world.
We’ll abolish all private property except my house.

I said in my last poem that everyone should eat popcorn, but that’s not
because I like it. I just like the sound of my voice. My fantasy is to live
in a Faulkner novel but that doesn’t mean I refuse to wear underpants.

I wanna get me an emotional-support peacock and move into Flannery
O’Connor’s old house. They prefer moist, cool summers and do not fare well
in hot, dry weather. One does still hear dreadful stories.

Like this:

Through my nose,I took everything I couldTo make the acheIn my head stop

There were yellow whalesAnd pipers wearing polka dotsPretending to be GodThe devil held a swordLike the archangel he wasAnd threatened the weather

Isn’t it somethingWhen the thunder of a fatherIs challenged by the tide of a son;Yet free will bought mankind the moon?

I challenged traditional thoughtBy letting the animals in my stomach outVampires in white cloth told me my penanceLed to something called a blood clotAnd every voice in the roomSanctioned by loveWas suddenly dividedBy their bindings to strengthEmpathyOr necessity

I learnedThat color mattersAnd that humanity classified everythingIncluding the intangiblesSo we could create crownsFor crowded rooms

But when we simplified faithWe lost his nameAnd now his face only shows